


Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Likes Dinosaurs, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Surprise Party, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Crowley thinks New Year’s Eve is an overrated tradition.Aziraphale presents arguments to the contrary.It took a moment to resettle the skin he’d almost jumped out of (for someone who was already half serpent, always a risk) and realize what it was, because no one ever called at his flat (except Aziraphale, who never had to be buzzed in because he either came in with Crowley or deployed a sneaky miracle to bypass the concierge). Tripping impressively over his own feet, Crowley fetched against the wall as if he’d meant to nearly bang his forehead just above the intercom grille.“Mister Crowley? It’s Ana. And Newt. We’re out front, can we – “Crowley jabbed the button and looked frantically around for possible embarrassments (he stuffed a pair of silk boxers under the sofa cushions, ears going a bit red as he remembered how they’d gotten over the kitchen door), while Aziraphale lifted his glass in a general toast to everything. “Lovely of them to call, don’t you think?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 272





	Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I have no defence. Happy New Year.

“After all the years _we’ve_ been through, y’know. Always seems like a big fuss over just one.”

“Well, this is a decade. Bit more of a thing.”

“What’s the point? Can’t think the earth cares.”

“You’re still sitting here watching this with me.”

“I’m sitting here with you.”

They had just poured themselves the second whisky of the evening. Aziraphale was nibbling chocolate truffles, which made an interesting pairing – feet up, half-watching footage of the New Year’s huggermuggery already under way around the world.

“Exactly. I think people make it a time to get together with friends…”

“We do this all the time. Nothing – ”

“You were going to say _nothing special?”_

“Below the belt, angel.”

“Later?” said Aziraphale with raised eyebrows and an expression of winning innocence. He could be a bit of a bitch sometimes.

Crowley was half way to kissing him for it when the intercom buzzed. It took a moment to resettle the skin he’d almost jumped out of (for someone who was already half serpent, always a risk) and realize what it was, because no one ever called at his flat (except Aziraphale, who never had to be buzzed in because he either came in with Crowley or deployed a sneaky miracle to bypass the concierge). Tripping impressively over his own feet, Crowley fetched against the wall as if he’d meant to nearly bang his forehead just above the intercom grille.

“Mister Crowley? It’s Ana. And Newt. We’re out front, can we – “

Crowley jabbed the button and looked frantically around for possible embarrassments (he stuffed a pair of silk boxers under the sofa cushions, ears going a bit red as he remembered how they’d gotten over the kitchen door), while Aziraphale lifted his glass in a general toast to everything. “Lovely of them to call, don’t you think?” he said as Crowley opened to the hallway.

“We’re just down from Tadfield, wanted to see in the New Year in town – “

“Get your coats – ah – what’s this?”

“Um – I made some sandwiches, it seemed rude to just show up and expect – “

“I always feel so awkward being first,” said a wincing Newt. “Is anyone else – “

Had he just seen Anathema _step on her husband’s foot?_ The look she shot Newt was certainly fond. She handed over a small cake carrier and her coat, leaving Crowley looking a little like a bellhop.

“Um – 'll just put these in the bedroom. Wonderful to, uh, see you, uh, angel --?"

Aziraphale had apparently miracled up not two but several extra chairs. Ominous. Now he was moving in to take charge of the carrier and brush a formal kiss over Anathema’s knuckles. “Lovely to see you, dear."

Newt looked nervous, as if afraid he’d be kissed too. After all, his quondam commander, Sergeant Shadwell, had always referred to the angel as _The Southern Pansy._

* * *

“Well, we’ll be staying with Newt’s mom till the weekend, so I could come around to the shop –– “

“Usual hours are ten to twelve and two to four, but just call ahead any time, my dear.”

Newt looked suspiciously at the single malt Crowley offered him.

“Go on, it’ll get you out of short pants.”

“Be fair, Crowley, he only shut down Doomsday.”

“All right – what _now_?” Crowley juggled his own glass, which threatened to launch itself out of his hand as the intercom burred again.

“ _Oh hello, it’s Tracy, can you let us in?”_

This was clearly a conspiracy.

* * *

“Ach, laddie, it’s good t’see ye again. And drinkin’ a man’s bevvy.”

“We brought one of those cheese platters from Tesco and some canapes, you can just pop them in the oven, and I’ve got everything here for Cosmopolitans…”

“You ‘n’your fancy jennie drinks.”

“Old bear.”

“I’ll take your coats,” said Crowley, resigned.

* * *

The next echoing intercom call sounded as if a large cast was involved. Crowley barely managed to stay upright as Pepper and Brian launched themselves through the hall door.

“ _Uncle Shades!”_

“Uncle Specs,” grinned Adam at Aziraphale.

“This is pear tart, and Arthur’s got some Bombay Sapphire and Fever Tree – do you have limes?”

“I brought some,” said Tracy.

“Deirdre. So good to see you all,” Aziraphale said, depositing his third hand-kiss of the evening. 

“ _Slut_ ,” mouthed Crowley to the angel, rather fondly, as the Them relinquished his midsection.

“Language, dear.”

“You have not heard the _beginning_ of language.”

“Isn’t it quite nice to see them again? They’ve grown already.”

“Ah, just as soon – “

“You’re smiling. Be a man and admit it.”

“I’m a demon. It can mean terrible things when I smile.”

“Later.” A bit more loudly: “And sherry, lovely. I’ll get glasses, Crowley, where do you keep them?"

“Where should we put our coats?“

Take the bull by the horns. “So what brings you to town?”

“Oh, we decided to give Adam and his friends a little holiday in the city before term starts. Your Mr. Fell found us the _loveliest_ AirBnB. He’s wonderful that way, isn’t he?”

Crowley was expressionless.

“He’s such a dear. You’re very lucky.”

* * *

Crowley sloped back into the kitchen. Aziraphale – who loved good food (more than anything, except for books and his demon), but had never really had to prepare any of it himself – was attempting, with mounting horror, to decipher the directions on a box of frozen mushroom canapes and the controls of Crowley’s convection oven.

“You are _so fucking busted_ , angel.”

“Meaning?” Aziraphale seemed pleasantly unconcerned.

“Deirdre Young ratted you out. Travel agent now, are you?”

“The last time I phoned up to say hello to Adam, she mentioned wanting to bring the children down. I simply helped out. You know I like to check up on the boy now and again.”

“Yeah, right.”

Crowley leaned in from behind, setting his chin on the angel’s broad shoulder, and wrapped him in a snaky embrace, trapping his upper arms against his sides.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“Let me go, I expect, before I drop these ghastly frozen things all over your lino.”

Crowley’s voice dropped to a soft growl.

“What _else_ am I going to do with you?”

“Later.”

* * *

“…Well, I’d been assigned to Swindon for years, and we didn’t have a bad life there, but one day another chap they had in Oxfordshire did a bunk with an exotic dancer – left his wife and three kids, would you believe it – and the company assigned me his territory. Best stroke of luck I ever had. It’s peaceful, Adam’s got wonderful friends… Shame about the other fellow. Can’t think what came over him.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that kind of story more than once in my line of work.”

“What did you do before retiring?”

“Well… I used to be a sort of, ah, bereavement counsellor…. Sometimes people would be sure their missing loved ones were dead, and come to find out that old Jocko had run off with a waitress from down the pub. One of them called me back quite _shirty_ about it, as if I ought to’ve known…”

“Well, no accounting for people, is there?”

“I’m glad to be out of it now, just a quiet life with the Sergeant.”

“What branch was he in?”

Madame Tracy dropped her voice. “Well, if you _must_ know, it was a bit of an elite unit. Responsible for tracking… _internal threats_ to the country, one might say. I know, you wouldn’t think it to look at him.”

“You mean, um, domestic terrorism?”

“Less _dire_ than that, but it was a _very_ responsible assignment. He had access to some remarkably sophisticated weaponry. But – ducks – don’t ask him about it? You know how old soldiers can be, bit touchy on the subject.”

Mr. Young winked. “Mum’s the word.”

* * *

“Well, I’m just _saying,_ there’s no reason we oughtn’t to have dinosaurs. Like in those Jurassic Park movies.”

“They were huge and they ate everyone. I don’t fancy being eaten.” This was Brian.

“We could just have _little_ ones,” maintained Adam.

They were seated in a row on the carpet in front of Crowley’s large-screen TV, watching the continuing coverage of New Year’s celebrations from around the world with the sound down, and a dinosaur costume in one event had gotten Adam’s attention.

“If it were little, Dog would chase it.” Pepper was practical.

“Maybe not that small.”

“Then it would chase Dog.”

“What if it were one of the big slow ones?”

“Boring.”

Wensleydale, just out of earshot, enjoyed the heady privilege of sitting on Crowley’s throne. He was reverently turning over the pages of the star atlases, wearing thin cotton gloves, which Uncle Specs had withdrawn from an inner pocket, explaining how he always kept a pair on hand for examining rare volumes. Crowley had been skeptical about allowing this until Wensley asked some rather well-informed questions about the spectra of stars, and had ended up leaning over his shoulder with explanations until he caught the angel beaming at him approvingly and chased him back into the kitchen.

“Where did this _Uncle Shades_ business come from? Bless it if I’m anyone’s uncle.”

“You’ve been a nanny, dear. It’s a bit the same thing.”

* * *

“Oooo, I haven’t been dancing in years. I’m sure I’d trip over my own feet.”

“Come on. It’s New Year’s Eve. Deirdre and I always have a dance. We used to do ballroom lessons before Adam was born.”

“Well, plenty of space in here, do you mind, Mr. Crowley?”

“Ah – Anthony. Please.”

“I think one of the BBC channels was going to have an evening of party music.”

“Er – let me see. Be right back.”

* * *

“ _Ssssssssstt! Angel!”_

“What, dear?”

“They want dance music. You have _so dropped me in it.”_

“A minor miracle will do it, I’m sure.”

“Someone said BBC One, but the radio’s not worked in ages, never bothered.”

“ _Bebop._ We want something less modern.”

“They are _not going to want to dance to Bach oratorios – “_

“Oh, I was thinking some classic Big Band. Tommy Dorsey. Teddy Powell.”

The flat filled with the sound of “Blue Sentimental Mood.”

“Oh, Mr. Crowley, that’s _lovely!_ What a marvellous sound system, where ever are the speakers?”

“ _Anthony_. Please. It’s, ah, one of those Wave things.”

Crowley looked like someone who’d just been hit with a wet fish. Aziraphale looked maddeningly smug. In other words, it was Tuesday.

* * *

Wensleydale had stacked the atlases carefully at one end of the table, and the Them were clustered around the other, playing some sort of card game that Brian had brought along. Anathema, who’d brought watercress sandwiches, was the only one eating from the tray balanced between her and Crowley on the sofa.

“I thought they were a British classic. I guess I’m out of date. Still trying to fit in.”

“Seems you two get on all right.”

Newt, in fact, telegraphed a constant state of ecstatic shock; even while he caught up with Sergeant Shadwell, he kept glancing fondly over at his American witch as if she were a dream that might evaporate were he to look away for too long. Her very Pagan, brushed-silver wedding ring, with a spiral bezel, had _Always_ engraved around it in a fine script.

“Leaving America was the best thing I ever did. Or maybe burning Agnes’ prophecies.”

“Glad you did well out of all that,” said Crowley, refilling their glasses.

“Well, Tracy and Mr. Shadwell too. They suit each other.” Tracy was dancing with Mr. Young at the moment, but then the idea of anyone cutting a rug with Shadwell admittedly defied the most powerful imagination. Anathema glanced at Crowley sidelong over her wineglass. “You two ever think about it? You seem inseparable. I mean, do your sort even do that kind of thing?”

Rather topically, the phantom soundtrack switched to “Love’s Old Sweet Song.” (1)

“Ah, dunno…” Crowley began to convolute, as he generally did after more than thirty seconds’ contact with a piece of furniture.

“Sorry. Not my business, really.”

“Nah. Family,” said Crowley, meaning that she was, in a sense. “I – “ He looked down into his glass as if divining. “Ana, ’s nothing I’d love more than to be his in front of the whole world. Only he’s, y’know, an angel, and I’m….” He turned face on to Anathema, lowered his dark glasses slightly so that the yellow serpent eyes showed only to her. “This. D'you imagine he’d really…?”

“Well, I never imagined I’d marry someone like Newt. But here we are.”

Crowley eyed Aziraphale, who had dropped in on the Them’s card game and was attempting feats of prestidigitation. They seemed to be going as well for him as they usually did, that is, miserably.

“You’re both wonderful godfathers. Or uncles or whatever they call you.”

“Right. Yeah. He drops cards, I give master classes in buggering up phone networks… perfect role models.”

“So there. You’re suited too.”

* * *

“Did you get that champagne in the fridge?”

Mrs. Young admired Crowley’s kitchen, which was gleaming and immaculate, primarily because he never did anything there other than make coffee.

“I can bung it in the freezer for a bit before midnight, it’ll be right.”

“You don’t need to keep fussing in here, you know. Come on out for a dance.”

“Erm – never learned.”

“I’ll teach you. Arthur and I find it so relaxing –– oops! Nice catch.”

“I’ll just be – “

“Put that down. Come on.”

* * *

“Angel, you _cannot do the gavotte_ to big band music.”

“We’ve done the impossible a ridiculous number of times, Crowley.”

“This is different. This is about my dying of mortification.”

* * *

“There, see? One-two, step back, one-two to the left… it’s quite easy. Why, Mr. –- "

“ _Anthony.”_

Mrs. Young expertly dodged Newt, who was trying not to step on Tracy's toes, with limited success.

“Even your – ah – “

“Friend. Very good friend.”

“Calls you _Crowley_.”

“Habit. We were in school together.”

“As I was going to say, you move beautifully. You could tango.”

“I’m getting a bit dizzy, sorry.”

“Can we turn this up a bit, Mr. Fell? – Your boyfriend’s leaving me on the dance floor. I’ll show you a bit of swing.”

* * *

“ _It was only a_ little _one_.”

“ _Adam, what did we tell you about using your powers_?”

“Talking secrets with Mr. Fell, Adam?”

“Oh, young Adam here was just telling me how much he loves dinosaurs. He’d bring them back if he could. _You did get rid of it entirely, didn’t you?”_

“Ugh. Awful, scaly things. Well, he’s all boy.”

“Can I have some champagne if I can’t have a dinosaur?”

“All right, dear. Just a _tiny_ taste.”

* * *

After the third knock from neighbours Crowley miracled the flat soundproof. The volume of the music didn’t seem to stop Adam, after a surreptitious pull at his mother’s sherry, from curling up on the sofa while Pepper and Brian attempted dancing (they weren’t sure what they were doing, but they were enjoying it). He was roused only by the imminent promise of champagne at midnight. A few premature fireworks had already gone off. Brian, after a whispered reminder, fished a squashed sandwich bag of confetti out of his jeans pocket.

Mr. Young, determined to demonstrate that he had the best champagne-opening technique in Oxfordshire (“it’s a certain twist, so you don’t lose anything”) seemed to be having a struggle with the second bottle – hunkered over in the foyer with it clamped between his knees, somewhat in the attitude of a runner at the starting block. Wensley and Tracy, standing by with flutes, watched nervously as his third go got the cork halfway out, and then jumped back as champagne spurted everywhere and the cork described a graceful parabola the length of Crowley’s front room. Crowley, deadpan, snapped his fingers and it plummeted into his hand.

“Wow,” said Wensley. Crowley tossed it to him.

“No Big Ben this year, but I’m counting down on my watch.” Tracy was a bit tipsy and had left lipstick smears on several cheeks, but could still command a gathering. “Three, two, one…”

The children’s shrill voices drowned out the adult ones. Crowley, who was slightly blurry himself at this point, winced and notched up the soundproofing.

“Kiss for luck, everyone,” carolled Tracy, applying the last of her lipstick to the Sergeant (“Awa’ wi’ye”), while Anathema and Newt exchanged an I-now-pronounce-you kiss, chaste but tender. The Youngs hugged. Wensleydale darted in to land a peck on the slightly offended Pepper, and Brian surprised everyone, including (it seemed) himself, by giving Adam a wet smack on the side of the head. His expression suggested he simply hadn’t wanted to be left out.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale kissed Crowley. At some length.

“Angel, I don’t think it’s quite _later_ yet – “

But Aziraphale was dropping to one knee in front of the demon, a position that he’d assumed on a number of previous occasions, though not in this social a setting.

”Erm, this is a little public – “

“My love?”

The demon found one of his hands softly trapped by both of the angel’s own, and hung on for balance as much as anything else.

“My love,” Aziraphale repeated. “I think it's time to say that there is no way I would rather spend eternity than with you. To ring out this very long year, will you make me, very possibly, the only happy angel in all creation, but undoubtedly the happiest?”

“You’re catching flies, Mr. Crowley,” observed Tracy after several seconds of silence.

“Are you asking me to – “

“Is that a yes?”

“ _Get up here.”_

_“–-ooof!”_

“ _You’re bloody right it’s a yes_ – “

“Will you at least let me get out the ring – _oooooooooofffffffff!”_

Brian threw a large handful of confetti, most of which landed squarely on Crowley's head.

“More champagne, I think,” said Mrs. Young.

* * *

“Congratulations again,” said Mr. Young, who, while he had not grown up with the concept of gentleman-shaped beings exchanging wedding vows, was trying to raise his son to be open-minded. (“ _Muuumm,”_ harmonized Adam, _sotto voce,_ as his mother conferred farewell kisses all round.)

Pepper looked gravely up at Aziraphale as she pulled on her coat. “Are you sure you want to do this? You know marriage is just a construct of an obsolete patriarchy.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think we can make it our own, don’t you?” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley, whose ears were flaming again, something the angel secretly found adorable and decided then and there that he would go out of his way to provoke.

“Now don’t be a stranger, young man – “

“Neither, exactly – “

Tracy pulled out a perfumed hanky and blew loudly, wiping her eyes. "Sorry, loves, it just makes me all sniffly -- "

“Ach, leave off yer greetin', wumman – ye know, the two’ve ye still owe me some explanations – “

“Newt? The door’s this way.”

“Sorry, Ana – shouldn’t have had that last – “

“A little fresh air, you’ll be fine.“

“Ahm, just a quick pop by the loo – “

“It works, doesn’t it?” said Aziraphale to Crowley under his breath.

“It does now.”

“What ever is all this _angel_ business?” Mr. Young could be heard as the party retreated toward the elevator.

“I’m sure it’s just a figure of speech, Arthur. Bit of a subculture.”

The door shut, dropping them into a profound silence.

“Okay, angel. Confessions?”

Aziraphale had already taken a stab at the washing-up; jacket off, sleeves rolled, soapsuds flecking his bare forearms, he was a truly ravishing sight.

“Um. Well, it really was just an inspiration when I called the Youngs – her idea, really – “

“You know what I mean. You seemed pretty sure I’d – “ oh, of all the times for demonic flippancy to fail. Choking up is _not_ in the Infernal manual.

“Oh. Yes. I admit, I _did_ ask Anathema to – “

“Thought so.” The growl returned (it’s something you can do to disguise the fact you’re choking up).

“Mph. Crowley, let go. We can’t leave your place in this mess, I’ve only started in the kitchen – “

“You’ve never done washing-up in your life. This is no time to begin.”

“And there’s this confetti everywhere – “

“ _And_ it is extremely _later._ A whole New Year later. I’m your fiance now, I get rights.”

He took his time with the kiss.

“Well, dear. If you say so. Happy New Year.”

_finis_

(1) Later in the evening, after the influence of a good deal more liquor, Crowley (who had certainly been in a few ballrooms during the Swing era) was thwarted by Aziraphale -- in observance of long-standing tradition -- trying to sneak "Serenade To A Maid," by the same artists, into the playlist. He thought it would amuse the Them. As it probably would have.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sIRywoo85Yw

**Author's Note:**

> For more of the Them (if you are a fan of theirs), including the "Uncle" nicknames. shameless plug for "Give Me Your Hands, If We Be Friends." (Or, Shakespeare is a bad operating manual.)
> 
> A tip o' the pen to HolyCatsandRabbits for "Beelzebub Creates Dinosaurs," which I'd just read with delight when I put in the dinosaur bit.
> 
> If you liked, share, reblog, comment! Authors are always thirsty :)
> 
> Come say hello on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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